


Strangers

by brokenmemento



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Season/Series 02, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: With the coven in shambles and the Academy without a sense of direction, Zelda finds a place to start rebuilding and settles on asking an unlikely person to aid her in her mission.
Relationships: Zelda Spellman & Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 10
Kudos: 52
Collections: Madam Spellman 2020 Challenge





	Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> *Entry for the Madam Spellman 2020 Challenge on Tumblr
> 
> **Prompt 2: Road Trip

If anyone were to say they saw her standing on Mary Wardwell’s porch, she’d deny it vehemently. The Zelda Spellman that Greendale knows would not be making kind with anyone, much less a simpleton teacher that lives tucked away in the edges of the forest wild. Pride aside, she needs her more than she cares to admit.

Her knuckles rap on the door and she begins pacing with nervousness. This is ridiculous, complete and utter. They’ve spoken a handful of sentences to one another ever and now she’s standing on her porch meaning to ask for help building a witch library? Quickly swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, Zelda tries to calm the prickling beads of sweat and her racing heart. She can do this, she can do this, she can do _this_. It’s not like they’re complete strangers…

The door finally opens, not with a woosh but with a confused pulling back as the small woman leans into the frame. Zelda registers the moment her emotions go from perplexed to bewildered. Rightfully so, she supposes. Not like she would have ever expected herself at Wardwell’s abode either. She tries to plaster on her best regality and smiles at the face that she only really knows as Lilith. _What’s that aching somewhere deep inside?_

“Ms. Wardwell, hello,” Zelda begins and holds her hands tucked against her bosom. “I do hope that I haven’t arrived at an inconvenient time.”

“Um, no,” the woman responds, only it comes out more like a question than a statement.

Zelda feels like a court jester, an imp, a circus performer, but she squares her shoulders and plows on despite the growing discomfort. The stark blueness of eyes watching her every move doesn’t help matters either.

“I know we don’t really know one another and you’ve no proclivity to provide me that which I seek, but I have come into a new undertaking that requires a specialist, of sorts,” Zelda tries again, but Ms. Wardwell’s face hasn’t morphed much, instead seemingly stuck on astonishment. Zelda stifles an eye roll and continues. “I’m told that you have quite the skill set when it comes to matters of historical accuracy.”

Finally, mercifully, her visage changes and a lightness begins to make its way to her eyes. She brings a hand up to play with the opalescent beads at her throat and Zelda notices the fine lines there, the purple-blue of the veins that run toward her fingers, the long and thin digits with perfectly rounded pale nails. Her mind veers off into dark territory and she has to inhale heavily to then push out the thoughts brewing. 

“I always say that I’m Greendale's ‘unofficial historian,’ seeing as how I can’t make a full-time practice of it, what with teaching at all.” She stops and her brows knit together. “Administration. I mean, being an administrator. It’s all been quite sudden, confusing, and rather daunting.”

Zelda watches as she deflates a bit. She knows the poor woman is lost in her own timeline and she silently chides Lilith for throwing her for a loop. No one deserves what she’s done to the poor woman in front of her, but Zelda lacks time to paint a clear picture of it. If Ms. Wardwell can offer any assistance with her own undertaking, she supposes she will owe her in the form of truth. 

“So I’ve heard,” Zelda finally responds. “Anyway, about why I’m here.”

“Forgive me. I should have asked what you’re needing,” Ms. Wardwell says flustered and brings one of those lovely hands to her forehead in a gesture of forgetfulness. 

“Right,” Zelda manages to choke. “I’m working to expand the literature in a library collection. I’m finding some of the texts rather antiquated and in dire need of an update. I was hoping to have an aid in researching to find out what might prove valuable additions.”

“Oh? Is this for the Greendale Public Library? I wasn’t aware they were redoing their shelves.”

“No...this is for another local collection, lesser-known though.”

Risking the anonymity of the entire coven is a variable that Zelda has played with from the second this was conceived in her mind. There are two roads that pulling back the veil of mortal and magic could lead down: the Academy library shifts into a thing of knowledge and awe or a leaching of memories will be needed in order to combat the catastrophic fallout. Zelda can almost picture Hilda’s fingers dancing like marionettes as she pulls wisping thoughts from a subject’s mind. It’s beautiful and terrifying watching it done so having to perform it must be unparalleled. 

“Is it privately owned?” Mary presses quizzically. 

“One might say that. If you have a few more minutes to spare, I can explain everything.” Zelda braces herself, waits. 

Ms. Wardwell eyes her steadily but then opens her front door wider, Zelda able to see inside, to feel the comforting warmth pulling her in. The small body once blocking it moves to the side and motions her in. 

“Do come in.”

Launching herself forward, she crosses the threshold. Crosses the point of no return. 

—————-//

She’s had a lot of difficult conversations in her long existence and explaining to someone whose life is but a breath in time compared to the years that pile on for witches is perhaps one of the hardest. The school teacher takes it relatively in stride, only making Zelda question her choice in a few tense minutes in which Mary’s eyes get wide and she leaps from a chair muttering _oh my gosh, oh heavens..._

To understand the history of Greendale is to understand the background of the Spellmans and every other generation of witch that’s called the forests past the river home for many centuries. So few can understand the gravity of their existence though, which is why their kind has assimilated for as long as can be remembered. Somehow, these things seem to solidify in the tiny body across from Zelda and she finally hears the words that make it feel like it will all be okay: _where do we start?_

The Academy front entrance seems like trial by fire for someone who has a cross hanging over the mantle of their fireplace, so Zelda chooses to take Ms. Wardwell into the once forbidden place for her kind by teleportation. Explaining what she’s about to do proves almost as tall a feat as admitting who and what she really is, so Zelda crawls out of the chair and lets her knees hit the floor, hands out and palms up silently asking for the woman to follow her lead. 

Sensing this, Ms. Wardwell mimics the motion and sticks her own hands out. The same nervousness she felt on the porch begins anew and she scolds herself for acting like an apprehensive school girl at the prospect of connecting skin with a woman she hardly knows. 

They settle into a quiet and Zelda lets out a held breath. Reaching across the space between them, she gently turns Ms. Wardwell’s hands so that she’s holding them in her own. Behind the neat frames, those piercing eyes never leave Zelda. 

“This won’t hurt or anything. It’s just a way for us to enter the Academy with less fanfare. While ideas are changing, it’s rather slow yet, so I’d rather not have to explain my bringing a Christian mortal into…”

“A place for devil worship?” Mary asks but there’s no malice to it. Instead, a curious cock of the head and a thin smile that looks like it wants to get bigger but is afraid to bloom.

“We’re kind of in limbo with that,” Zelda shoots back, but again without any punch. “Which is why I need help.”

“Ah, yes. Your Lilith. My doppelganger.”

It’s hard not to let the words _your Lilith_ hit her straight in the chest. Claiming ownership of a creature that’s irrevocably altered her family’s life (for the worst? It’s hard to say) doesn’t feel like anything Zelda can do. She’s revered Lilith her entire life-prayed to her, devoured stories with furious hunger-but meeting her on the earthly plane hasn’t gone exactly how she imagined. 

“You might feel a little nausea after the transport. It’s a side effect for…” Zelda wants to say _mortal_ but bites it off when Mary gives her a look. “Second thoughts?”

“ _Second_ thoughts?” she says with a tinge of sarcasm and when did this woman grow a backbone?

Zelda gives her a small glare and then mutters _ianuae magicae_ without any more preamble, launching them through time and space. 

—————-//

Zelda has watched as Mary’s hands graze along the bindings of the books on a shelf level with her eyes. She’s completely focused, scanning the titles and scrunching her eyes. After a few moments, she turns around.

“I don’t understand. What exactly are you wanting my help with?” Mary says confused. 

“Gutting it,” Zelda says simply. As if it isn’t obvious. “And finding new titles to have available for the students here. Some of these are in need of a bonfire and others are still valuable and relevant. We need to comb through them.”

“There are thousands of books here,” Mary says with incredulity. 

“If you’re not up to the task, that’s fine. I just thought your reputation might proceed you,” Zelda sniffs indifferent. Which she is not, but Ms. Wardwell doesn’t need to know that. The thought of tackling it alone though does feel daunting. 

“No. Where do we begin?” Mary says squaring her shoulders. 

Zelda smiles and brings her hand in the air. With a flick of her wrist, all the books shudder and fall like an avalanche to the floor. Mary’s mouth hangs open and she looks around at the mess. 

“There,” Zelda smiles and points to a stack that’s fallen at Mary. “Let’s get started.”

The minutes turn to hours which turn to days. Eventually, they’ve pulled out the Lucifer focused stories, the overtly patriarchal ones or those that portray the new queen as a monster. A beginning with a ruler vilified simply won’t do. They come to a point where it’s time to start filling the place again and Zelda turns to Mary for guidance. 

“Now it’s my turn,” she says as she looks at all of the empty holes in the rows. “Where do we begin.”

“How good are you with the internet?” Mary asks. 

“I may have used it...once,” Zelda sniffs. Because Hilda does the books for the mortuary and the old rotary phone still works well enough that she doesn’t need one attached at her hip. And all of a sudden, she feels out of place and lost in a world that passed her by. Mary seems to sense this and reaches out a hand. Zelda startles at the touch. 

“Grab a pen and paper. I’ll get us something to drink. We’ve got some researching to do,” Mary says as she holds up her phone and waves it back and forth. 

They huddle together on the settee, Zelda taking copious notes as Mary makes suggestions. Out beside each one, a scribble to point to the location. This list grows and grows, some texts on the farthest corners of the earth while others are merely at their back door. Time passes and slips away, glasses drain and refill. By the time Zelda stretches her limbs, she’s wobbly from drink and exhaustion. 

Standing upright, she stumbles a bit and goes from inebriated to almost sober as her body falls into Mary’s, who holds her upright. A look passes between them and Zelda forgets to breathe, but then Mary smiles and leaves her on steadier feet. 

Gathering her composure, Zelda starts them compiling a map and both examine it when it’s through. Mary shakes her head at the sheer volume of what they’re proposing and casts a look over at Zelda. The witch can only return a closed-off look and fold her arms across her chest. 

“Closest one is just across the river. Looks like we’re making a trip to Riverdale,” Mary points at the pushpin. 

“Getting there quick or taking a bit of time?” Zelda raises an eyebrow. 

“If it’s all the same to you, how about something with wheels this time?”

The first trip into rebuilding. Another elongated period of time to be in Mary’s presence. Zelda tries not to be pleased with the fact. 

—————-/

Nine trips in, things start to change. Mary begins to talk a little more, uses less sarcasm in her speech, sits a little closer, becomes more animated on their drives. They fall into easy conversation as miles of country pass them, up and down roads that out flower out from Greendale’s center. 

It’s on this trip they find the 17th century _Book of Magical Charms_ and both women lean against the hood of the car as Mary carefully examines the worn and yellowed pages. Her attention is rapt as she rattles off the passages she can read. After stumbling over the language of several, she glances over at Zelda who takes it gingerly from her hands and lays it atop the aluminum.

She points to words, pictures, translates what the looping script means. Mary’s eyes shine bright the entire time. Zelda can’t help but smile and Mary lays her hand on top of hers. Of course, it stops both of them in their tracks but Mary recovers quickly and lets her excitement flow anew. 

By trip twenty-seven, Mary is an ordinary presence. No longer does it seem like Zelda ever awoke a day without seeing the woman in her life. They’ve trekked across the greater United States, spirited away to old huts in dark forests and derelict castles on high mountaintops. Each destination has earned them a success to take back to the Academy library. 

They’re walking out of an old warlock’s liar at the witching hour, book procured under Zelda’s arm. The moon is filtered from cloud cast and the night feels deep and wild. Zelda takes in the air and smiles, at home in the dark hours of the night. 

A breeze kicks up from the north, sends the red tresses of her hair dancing in the wind. When it dies, she’s left in small disarray. Before she can reach up to right herself, Mary’s hand is tucking the hair away but letting her hand linger. 

“What is happening, Zelda?” she questions in perplexity. 

And then the night isn’t the only thing that’s wild because Zelda is lightly pressing her lips to Greendale’s unofficial historian and Sabrina’s favorite teacher. A spark, long dormant, lights. It sends fire throughout her body. 

On another night outside of a truck stop, of all things, Mary pushes her into the side of a big rig and they’re making out like teenagers, their latest conquest a title snagged from an innocuous Craigslist ad. With the hand not clutching at the leather-bound cover, the other is grabbing at Mary’s long brown hair. Zelda feels touch land under the recesses of her sweater and feels heat everywhere. 

Months pass, shelves fill. The two women look at the eclectic mix of literature that it’s taken both of them and thousands of miles to get. It might not be a complete transformation of the Academy, but it’s a start and the other start and continuation are gripping her hand by her side, squeezing tightly. 

On one particular day, she comes in all a flutter and Zelda can practically feel the energy radiating off of her. She speaks quickly, gesticulates wildly, and it’s all she can do just to get her to calm. 

“I’ve hit the jackpot, I think,” Mary begins and tries to slow her speech. Somehow, someone has unearthed some old texts that seem as if they should belong in a library but aren’t. Oh, I’m not sure how we are going to pull this off, but look!” 

She slides her phone over to Zelda who can just make out the picture on the tiny screen. Moving her glasses from their perch atop her head, she begins reading the lines of the text. Her eyes go wide and she sucks in a breath. 

“Not just this, but here too. Hittite, Egyptian, Israelite, Greek-all manuscripts and documents that make mention of your Lilith. All right there, waiting for someone to appreciate them,” Mary says excitedly. 

“Where?” Zelda can only whisper. Her palms feel sweaty and the pace of her heart beats with intensity. The order of things feels like it’s being knitted together, every cross-stitch as close to perfection as one can hope. The library is so close to telling Lilith’s story, honoring her life, showing the Academy and everyone else that she’s worthy of words, honor, and so much more. 

A wide grin spreads across Mary’s face and she reaches to remove her glasses. Holding them with one hand, she sighs happily. “The Catacombs. Well, it’s not currently there but I’ve developed a contact that says it was discovered there many years ago and has been in private keeping for the last few centuries.”

Zelda’s already standing and drawing forth the spell in her head to take them there. Speaking from her heart has yet to occur, but an unspoken understanding flows between them. They’re doing more than building a library, shifting an Academy, moving themselves around on the inside like puzzles. Everything is about Lilith and bigger than her at the same time too. 

Mary stands in front of Zelda, softly places her hands together. Unsatisfied, she thinks better of it and laces their fingers together. She’s so beautiful in the afternoon light, a lantern of soft glow in a lifetime of darkness. It takes all of Zelda not to be completely smitten. 

By the time they’ve managed, hellishly, to barter and get the items that were the ultimate prize, they make their way below the streets to a whole world underneath. Zelda’s never been to Hell, still hopes to visit her Queen there someday. The blank eyes stare out into nowhere, bones layered as high as the tomes both she and Mary have been working to change. Not that she’d ever say it, but she feels at home among the dead here, the ancient stories strapped to her shoulder in a satchel. It feels like a win in a long line of battles that have never quite gotten to be satisfying.

To think, it all began with a timid woman who had been cast off and shoved aside by an entire town, living a lonely little life in a cottage in the trees. 

It’s weird to feel full, to acquire some version of peace amongst thousands of long-gone souls and one still shining brightly. Zelda stares at the piles, breathes in, takes Mary’s hand in her own. 

She never let’s go. 

The Academy has a sanctuary of information for those of the magic kind, but for the first time in perhaps ever, a mortal walks the halls. Zelda smiles as Mary points out a particular title to a young witch. 

This isn’t completion, but it’s a start. And sometimes? Sometimes that’s the hardest part of all and yet here they are. Tomorrow, the future, doesn’t feel like an abyss. Purpose and direction have a way of molding. Zelda closes her eyes, thanks Lilith for letting Mary walk the Earth again.


End file.
